Take Me Down
by everhtorne
Summary: Clato smut drabble, dom!Cato, rated M for cunnilingus. NOT FOR 12.9 YEAR OLDS. Please R&R!


**A/N: A Clato smut drabble inspired by Isabelle's (saoirseronans) AMAZING Clato AU Dig Up Her Bones which EVERYONE should read, honestly it is the best thing ever to exist. The last chapter just gave me a lot of clato feels so I wrote this. Please leave me a review to let me know what you think!**

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><p>Clove doesn't remember the last time her throat was this dry. Or her lips were pursed so tightly, or her stomach was knotted so fiercely or her heart beat was so erratically fast.<p>

But that's just what Cato does to her.

His hands are wrapped around her wrists, holding them securely above her head as she lies on her back, pressed against the fresh white sheets that cover the mattress. Clove tries to avoid his eyes but he's _right there_, hovering above her, wearing nothing but his boxers and a playful smirk. She tries to pull her hands free once more but she knows it's useless. Cato only smiles wider.

"You know there's no point," Cato murmurs, bringing his face down close enough for his lips to brush along Clove's jaw. She swallows.

In a fight, Clove likes to think she's pretty evenly matched to Cato. He may be larger, but she's smart; she's agile, she's deceptive, she's better with weapons than him (although he'll never agree with that). She can take him on and win nine times out of ten.

This isn't a fight, though. This is… she doesn't even know what to call it. It's Cato using his force to hold her down, to make her helpless. Clove doesn't think she's ever been so… vulnerable. She never loses fights, _never_. So she's never known what it's like to feel completely defenceless.

"Let go of me," she mutters once again, putting as much authority in her voice as she can manage. It doesn't really sound like a command though; more of a pathetic plea.

Cato presses his lips together to stop from laughing, eyeing her up and down. She's not wearing much. His eyes linger on her thin, black bra, the tight lace making her assets even more prominent than usual. Ignoring her demand, Cato, licks his lips and starts to kiss along Clove's collarbones.

"Did I mention how much I like this?" he hums against her skin. "The black lace I mean. It looks good on you."

Clove tries not to let him get to her but she can't help the shiver that runs down her spine as his tongue traces upwards towards her parted mouth. Her breath hitches in her throat.

He's going to kiss her in a minute. She knows that. Clove can't help the flash of nervousness that settles over her.

The kiss comes a moment later. Cato loosens his grip on Clove's imprisoned wrists, his mouth prising hers open and his tongue snaking inside. Clove can't help the startled gasp that escapes her lips. Cato just tastes _so damn good_. She kisses back fervently, unable to help herself, inhaling his intoxicatingly sweet breath.

Unfortunately, though, just as quickly as he had initiated the kiss, Cato pulls back, a mischievous glint in his narrowed eyes. Clove remains on her back, looking up at him and watching as he slowly removes his grip from her and begins to sit up.

Clove's hands stay where they are; her arms splayed above her head. She knows she should be mad. Cato is being impossible tonight. She hates it when he tries to take charge in the bedroom. She hates feeling inferior. _She_ should be the one holding _him_ down. It's not fair.

Before she's really processed what he's doing, Cato edges backwards until he's at the end of the bed, kneeling around Clove's feet.

"Cato, can we just get on with it?" Clove complains in a low voice, not wanting to shatter the quietness in the room.

She thinks it's cute that he gets so into the foreplay, but honestly, Clove just wants him inside her already. Her entire body is pulsating with a kind of racy energy she can barely control.

"Be patient," Cato waves his hand dismissively at her, lowering his head between her knees. His mouth connects with her inner thigh and he presses a gentle kiss down onto her bare flesh.

Oh. Clove's eyes widen. _Oh_. She clears her throat.

"Cato, I –"

"Shh," he scorns absently, trailing kisses along her thigh until he reaches her slightly spread hips.

Clove's throat feels like sandpaper. Cato's only eaten her out once before. It was… explosive. Cunnilingus is pretty much Clove's biggest weakness. She can feel her entrance throbbing painfully at the thought of his mouth on her.

Clove inhales sharply as she feels Cato's breath graze the soaked material of her panties. He brings his mouth down to touch the inside of her leg, licking her skin and sucking on it lightly.

"You're so wet," Cato mumbles when he pulls back for a moment, a pleased grin in his voice.

Clove feels her entire face heating up, despite knowing it's pointless to be embarrassed. Her legs spread wider and wider with every one of Cato's careful touches. A soft growl builds at the back of her throat and works its way out of her mouth. Cato laughs; his warm breath makes her tingle.

"Shit," Clove whines desperately. "Get on with it."

Cato takes his thumb and begins to rub it gently up and down her clit through her drenched underwear. Clove squeaks in surprise at his touch, biting on her lip to stop herself from crying out. She soon tastes blood.

"I told you to be patient," Cato reminds her softly, clearly enjoying himself.

He returns his tongue to the sensitive area, tracing around her swollen clit and labia over the delicate fabric. Clove's body reacts of its own accord; her legs tighten around Cato's shoulders, trying to push him in further. She feels her pussy tighten and contract desperately.

"Come _on_, Cato," she begs followed by a squeaky whimper.

"What's the magic word?" he teases, taking her legs in his strong grip and forcing them apart.

She presses against his hold and reaches forward to push his head down. He fights back, though, keeping her legs spread. Clove groans, tilting her head backwards in frustration.

"You're an asshole."

"Wrong answer."

Keeping her legs in position, Cato uses one hand to carefully peel back her dripping lace panties, sliding them down and down until they hang around one of her ankles. Clove kicks them off in irritation. The cool air of the room hits her wet entrance and she quivers.

"_God_," Clove grunts, tilting her head backwards and squeezing her eyes shut tightly.

He isn't moving yet. Why isn't he moving? Clove scowls and tries to use her legs to force him down to where she wants him once more. Cato chuckles, hesitating for a while longer. Clove's entire frame is trembling.

"Get on with it!" she commands breathlessly.

"Ask nicely," Cato raises his eyebrows, glaring at her in mock-seriousness.

Clove wants to scream. She feels her whole body burning red. A deep, irritated sigh emits her lips.

"Please," she spits finally, unable to resist his taunts any longer. "_Please_, Cato, for God's sake."

Clove can practically hear the smugness radiating off of him. She can barely focus on that though – the muscles of her lady area are twitching urgently.

"That's more like it."

But Cato still doesn't move, obviously wanting to push Clove to her absolute limit. She struggles against the sheets, narrowing her legs around his neck and burying his face deep between her thighs.

"Cato, if you don't – I swear to God I'm going to –"

But she doesn't get to finish as Cato's tongue abruptly snakes inside her awaiting clit, along with two of his fingers curled upwards. Clove screams and arches her back, digging her nails into the soft mattress, one hand clinging onto the sheets, the other tangling in Cato's hair and gripping on for dear life.

Clove tosses from side to side, crying out erratically and bucking her hips. She has never felt anything better than being with Cato like this; his mouth making her warm and tingly and absolutely hopeless. Cato keeps his tongue inside her for a while before coming up for breath. When he does sit up slightly, he keeps his fingers in place, moving them in and out of her rhythmically.

"Or you'll what?" he asks her innocently.

Clove squeaks as his fingers move within her and his tongue comes back down, her brain too muddled to think of a witty comeback.

Cato knows exactly what he's doing. He angles his fingers in such a way that he _knows_ he's hitting the spot that drives her insane. He plays with her labia, running his tongue up and down and teasing her clit on his way up. Clove can't help her shrill moaning as Cato persistently teases and sucks on her business.

She can feel the hot wave of pleasure building dangerously quickly inside her. Cato growls.

"Cato," she cries out, a fistful of pillowcase in her grip, "I'm gonna –"

"Shh," Cato dismisses. "It's fine."

"But –"

Clove doesn't manage to get the words out before the sizzling sensation becomes too much to prevent. Her hips lift into the air as she orgasms violently, screaming once again as she does so. Cato's lips return to the scene, lapping up her juices greedily.

Clove collapses backwards, her head hitting the pillow and her chest heaving.

She stares up at the ceiling breathlessly, taking back her earlier thought and, instead, wishing that Cato would take control in the bedroom more often.


End file.
